


Talk Too Much

by StairsWarning



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Choking, Geralt Being A Badass, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Episode s01e06, Semi-Public Sex, Triss is a Bro, playing fast and loose with canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22286362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StairsWarning/pseuds/StairsWarning
Summary: Jaskier talks the Witcher into slight violence, but instead of punching him in the family jewels again, he chokes the bard. Which leads to an... interesting reaction.Geralt is a kind-hearted badass and Jaskier wants his hands around his throat.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 817





	Talk Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> This is post-ep 5, but pre-ep 6. I'm here to play fast and loose with canon, babey!! I also have no knowledge of The Witcher outside the Netflix show, so pls go easy on me

Jaskier has been talking. That alone isn’t surprising, but after days of wandering through thickly wooded paths with only the soft whinnies of Roach and the talking or singing of his travelling bard to accompany him, Geralt has gotten quite tired.

“And another thing,” Jaskier prattles on, “their ale was subpar  _ at best, _ and their local bard only knew one of my songs. One! I’ve created dozens of masterpieces, Geralt, and only a poor bard would only know one.” A slight pause. Geralt cherishes it. “And it wasn’t even ‘Toss a Coin To Your Witcher’! It was some other one about bedding a beautiful older woman - which is also a lovely topic to sing on, but that’s beside the point - ah, what was my point again?”

Geralt only grunts, which has been sufficient enough of a response for the past day and a half or so. But that doesn’t mean that Jaskier has decided to stop talking, though. He continues for at least another hour, the sun passing through the sky as slow as molasses. His boots whisper against the blades of grass beneath his feet, only audible to his nonhuman hearing. Jaskier certainly can’t hear the beauty and simplicity of nature around the two of them, since the bard has decided to start talking about Geralt’s other ‘friends’, whoever they might be.

“That Yennefer, quite a lovely woman if I do say so, very sexy indeed, oh, you know what? We’ve both seen her breasts! Although in my scenario, I did not have the time nor the peace of mind to fully appreciate her lovely body, as she was chanting in tongues and waiting for that djinn to explode inside of her, or whatever. So, we both have that in common, Geralt! We both, ah, appreciate the same woman!” Jaskier grins as Geralt stops and turns, facing Jaskier with a scowl carved into his face. “Ah, don’t be like that, buddy!” Jaskier closes the distance between them, patting the other’s arm lightly. “You’ve gotten to appreciate her far better than I have.” And Jaskier - the little rat -  _ winks _ at him.

That’s it, Geralt decides, he’s going to kill him.

His gloved right hand shoots out before he knows it, closing around the bard’s throat. He doesn’t squeeze as hard as he wants to, mainly because if he killed the bard now, he’d have to drag his lifeless body to the nearest town to be buried, which was at least three days away (and just maybe… Some of his stories were funny. Some). The leather of his gloves creak as his fingers nearly meet each other around the bard’s neck- far smaller than his own. He hears a groan from the bard’s agape mouth, and he guesses it’s about time he lets go, gives a grunt, and survives three more days of chatter.

But he’s surprised when he meets the bard’s eyes, the normally cornflower irises drowned out by a sea of black pupils. His cheeks are oddly pink as well, his open mouth less shocked, and more, well…  _ erotic. _ Geralt drops his hand and turns quickly, not even offering a dry quip or a gritty grunt.

The most surprising thing, though?

Jaskier falls silent. A peaceful, comfortable silence. The rest of the evening is spent walking quietly, listening to bird calls and rustling animals around them. Geralt sets up camp with nary a peep from Jaskier, who only offers a brief “goodnight,” before falling asleep on the other side of the fire. Geralt spends longer than he should, thinking about it all. About Jaskier. About his hands around that fragile neck.

Geralt wakes at dawn, like normal. He trudges into the wilderness with an empty burlap sack, hunts down a few hares, shoves an appropriate amount for two or three meals into his bag, then trudges right on back to camp. He normally doesn’t think about much while hunting, simply living in the moment and enjoying the sound of the wind through the trees and the birds singing above head. Something is different today, though. He can’t get the look on Jaskier’s face out of his head; pupils blown wide, body language reading pure vulnerability. 

He cooks two of the hares, hearing Jaskier get up from the smell of cooking meat. He silently offers the man a leg, and Jaskier starts eating immediately. For how talkative the man usually is, he’s usually quite quiet until they start out on the road. 

“We’ll be walking all day today, so don’t complain when you put on your bad shoes.” Geralt snarks, knowing the bard will still want to put on his entire getup, despite the fact that no one who travels these paths wants to hear an eccentric bards’ singing.

“I’ll have you know that all my shoes are comfortable to walk  _ and _ run in! Simply the perks of smart shopping on my part.” Jaskier takes a big bite, looking very proud of himself. Juice dribbles down from the corner of his mouth, trailing down his chin slowly. Geralt leans over, swiping the juice off his chin.

“More like the perks of too many men chasing you out of their wife’s bedchambers.” He absentmindedly licks the juice off of his thumb, not entirely minding the look Jaskier sends his way. He quickly goes back to his own meat, eating quickly. 

“We’re going.” Geralt stands and grabs his bedroll, compressing it and stuffing it into one of Roach’s pouches. He puts out the fire and starts walking to the path, not needing to look to know that Jaskier is right on his heels.

The day is largely uneventful, just more walking. Although, Geralt notices, Jaskier is talking much more often than he usually does. “There must exist a book of some kind filled with all the different types of birds, yeah? I was never much good at knowing quite what calls each description referred to, though. The descriptions were all so vague, like, ‘the bird that sounds like it’s calling out in a staggered way,’ as if that’s not all of them!

“Maybe you know some bird calls, Geralt! Or perhaps just the monstrous kinds. Are there monster birds? Is there a book on those? Monsters, I mean. If there were an instructional guide on only birds of a monstrous kind, I’d hope it’d be more like a pamphlet. Can’t have danger from the sky threaten you too much, Geralt. You have enough problems down here to last us a lifetime. Me, at least. Don’t know much about your lifespan, other than that it’s loooooooong, if the legends are to be believed. Although, based on how much you sass me, it seems that the tales were not correct in a lot of ways, one being that you have no emotions. Yes, I hear your snort of derision! Sass is a human emotion! Maybe your horse here’s human, too, seeing how often she steps on my toes after a joke not quite in line with your dry sense of humor. Does she have a sense of humor or is she just echoing your humor? Don’t look at me like that, you’re the one that talks to her while I’m bathing. Don’t try to ignore the one good trait you have, Geralt! Making sure your horse is doing ok is perfectly normal for both people with emotions, and those that claim themselves lacking. You are fully allowed to be nice to your horse, trust me-”

His words are cut off as Geralt stops in place, head tilted to listen intently. He grabs Roach’s reins and Jaskier’s arm as he pulls them both into the brush, trusting Roach to walk further back and to lie down. Not shockingly, he doesn’t feel the same for Jaskier. Geralt pushes him into the gap between two large bushes, obscuring him perfectly from the road. Jaskier can hear it now- the sounds of passing bandits.

“Geralt, what-?” He gets out, only for Geralt to cover his mouth with his hand. It doesn’t stop the noises from escaping between his fingers, and Geralt does the next best thing. He rests his other hand gently against Jaskier’s throat, resting his fingers against the slope between his shoulder and neck, thumb pressing lightly against his Adam’s apple. Jaskier quiets immediately, body becoming limp. Geralt leans close to his ear, murmuring softly as to not alert the bandits.

“Stay here. Don’t get Roach killed.” He stands quietly, not turning to look back at Jaskier’s face. He watches the bandits pass, each member peacocking their own ‘successes’- women assaulted, children killed, men tortured, towns torched to the ground. Geralt lets out a feral smile, knowing that whatever he’s about to do to these men will be fully justified. He decides to give them a bit of a scare, throwing one of his smaller knives directly into the back of the skull of one of the bandits.  _ One down.  _ They get sent into a flurry of motion, drawing their weapons while facing the vast wilderness. Geralt makes enough noise so they face him as he stands, his blade drawn. He’d been told many times by Jaskier how intimidating this makes him look, so he revels in the calm before the storm.

An arrow speeds towards him- easily dodged. He pulls a second blade from his belt, clashing swords with the nearest bandit. He makes a valiant attempt, even managing to spit a few choice words into Geralt’s face before receiving a blade to the gut.  _ Two down.  _ Keeping his center of balance low, he swings a leg out to send the next closest bandit sprawling, his sword arm swinging just in time to cut the man’s head clean off.  _ Three down. _ Breath heavier, he jumps up and notices the other bandit’s hesitations. He positions his sword close to himself in a clearly intimidating gesture, gesturing with his head at the presumed leader.

“You,” Geralt growls, “you’re the one burning down towns?” He may have phrased it as a question, but his tone left little room for argument.

The man nods, the foul stench of fear potent from the man’s pressure points. “Yes! Yes, indeed! And you, dear beast, must be a Witcher!” His bravado stinks to even those without superhuman abilities. “You may have bested my weakest men, but you shall- you shall not defeat me!” The man charges, the weight of his decorative armor dragging him down. Geralt barely has to work for the tip of his blade to bury itself in the neck of the man, blood and tears staining the metal.  _ Four down. _

“Are you all done now?” Geralt snarks, ripping the blade from the man’s throat, a stream of blood exploding out. The remaining bandits are quick to flee, leaving behind bags of loot and a few horses.

There’s stillness once again. The grass continues to sway around the weight of body parts, and Geralt can once again hear the chirping birds. He sighs, walking over to where he left Jaskier. He’s still in the same place he left the bard, surprisingly, although he had obviously watched the entire exchange. Geralt raises his eyebrows as if to say,  _ yes? _

“Geralt, I know that you don’t believe that you’re as badass as my ballads make you, but… That was… Incredible. You took one look at these petty bandits and they shit their drawers!” Jaskier lets out an incredulous laugh, but he smells like awe and pride, instead of the fear the Witcher was used to from everyone else. “I know you did that first bit to look your most terrifying, and let me tell you first, Geralt, that it worked! Even Roach here was in awe!” Jaskier gestures wildly to the mare, now grazing on the bushes Jaskier was seemingly stuck between. Roach gives an incredulous snort, which the Witcher nearly laughs at.

“Of course, bard. Now get up, we need to take these war spoils back to where they belong.” He offers a hand to Jasker who quickly takes it, pulling himself up. Geralt grabs some of the forgotten bags, tying them to the startled horses.

“Awwweee, does this mean that renowned monster-killer Geralt of Rivia is going to return some horses to some peasant families? I knew you had a heart in there somewhere!” Jaskier smiles, quickly setting about helping the Witcher. He ties a few bags to saddles in silence, words soon bubbling up out of his lips. “If we return just the items, do you think we could keep one of the horses?” Geralt glares at him. “Well, you have Roach, and all I have are my feet! If I had a horse, I’d be able to keep up with you better! We’d make it around in half the time!”

“Hmm.” Geralt grits out. “No stealing horses. If they offer, then we can.” Geralt refuses to smile at the bard’s fist pump, setting about walking alongside the horses, loaded with useless goodies.

They make alright time, but they still need to stop for one more night before reaching the nearest settling of houses. They work well together, Geralt tying up the horses and pulling out their bedrolls while Jaskier scrounges around the woods for good pieces of wood for their fire. 

“Geralt, I know you’re a big, tough man, but you can’t be covered in blood when we’re eating.” Jaskier complains, through his full mouth. Geralt hmms. “At least bathe after we finish eating. That blood smell is going to stick in my nose if you sleep in it.” Geralt doesn’t question the logic of his statement, but decides to grunt in agreement and return to his food. The fire crackles, the setting sun’s waning warmth on their backs. Geralt tosses a few bones into the fire, the crackling like music to his ears. Although with Jaskier around, he’s started to be much more acquainted with the music of the era. “I‘ve stayed quite tidy, myself, so you’ll have to act like a normal person and bathe yourself this time ‘round.” Jaskier smiles, his cheeks puffing out from a particularly ravenous bite. Geralt glares back, but finishes eating and heads towards the small stream a bit away from the campsite.

“Don’t get yourself killed while I’m gone.”

“Ah! Ye of little faith!” In retaliation, Jaskier chucks a bar of soap at him, which Geralt catches without a glance. “Use the whole bar, please, even Roach is close to passing out from your stench!” 

“And here I was, thinking I smelled like heroics.” Geralt suppresses his grin.

“When you only smell like onions and death, no one wants to hire you!!” Jaskier yells after him. Geralt decides Jaskier is far enough away and lets out a small chuckle. As stupid of a bard he is, Jaskier has a few good jests up his puffy sleeves.

Geralt decides to take the bard’s advice to heart, trying his best to actually clean up. He even starts to clean out his armor when he hears a strange noise from their campsite. He tugs his undergarments and his undershirt on with haste, creeping up to the edge of the camp. He peers through the bushes, expecting the bandits from before, or perhaps a small forest creature. Instead, he is met with a shocking sight- Jaskier sprawled out on his bedroll, one hand down his pants, the other curled gently around his neck. Geralt balks, but is careful enough to keep from making noise. Despite everything his brain tells him, he stays put, watching. 

For all his jokes at Jaskier’s expense, the man is a valuable asset; he routinely charms townsfolk into giving them better prices or even better rations and rooms. But besides that, the man is… Endearing. Striking. Captivating. Jaskier usually becomes intolerable when he tries to charm entire rooms of people, but watching him here, head tilted back, knees bunched up, hair wild in the grass; he is more beautiful than he has ever postured himself to be.

_ This is… Not normal. _ Geralt thinks, desperate to creep closer to see the exact look on his face as he gets closer to the edge.  _ However, he  _ is _ doing this out in the open, so… Not as weird? _

“God-Gods, I’m- ah, fuck, ffff-” Jaskier cuts himself off, fingers tightening around the sides of his throat. His voice quiets, but it sounds like an entire universe in Geralt’s mind. “Ger, please, I’m… Just a…  _ Harder, Gods… _ ”

Geralt’s cock is hard, now that he thinks about it. Should he be thinking about that?

Jasker gasps as he comes, the smell of… him, wafting over. Geralt feels what he thinks is guilt when he wants more of what he’s just seen. He wants to bury his face between Jaskier’s thighs, wants to do so much more than sit in the bushes like a brooding loser.

Jaskier’s head raises, eyes suddenly much clearer than before. He must see the reflection of Geralt’s eyes from the light of the fire, and he calls out. “Ger-Geralt? You out there, buddy?” He sounds nervous, the kind of nervous that is difficult to make fun of. Geralt creeps back over to the river and slides the rest of his armour on.

“Still over here, Jaskier! What, did you find a scary mushroom I need to kill for you?” Geralt keeps his teasing tone light, yelling a bit louder than is entirely necessary. All he has to do is act like he  _ didn’t  _ just watch his travel companion jerk himself to completion while muttering something that sounded suspiciously like his name. Simple.

“Oh! Cool!” Jaskier wades through the bushes and strides through the small, sandy clearing, still reeking like come. He obviously keeps forgetting how keen Witcher’s noses are, or he has a death wish. Either that, or the bard  _ wants  _ Geralt to smell him like that. Geralt tries to not think about it.

“I decided that I am, in fact, going to take a river bath.” Jaskier presents this information as if he were delivering it to Queen Calanthe herself. He gives a slight bow. “Now, if we could trade off, and you can get all cozy by the fire so I can bathe in peace, that would be lovely.” Jaskier shoves Geralt out of the way, sitting down on the bank and taking his shoes off. He glances out of the corner of his eye to see Geralt still standing in the same spot. He turns to face him, tossing his shoes away from the water. “If you aren’t here to compliment my lovely singing and sculpted body, you are free to leave!” Jaskier waves him off with a theatrical wave of his hand, and Geralt takes that as his cue. He schemes all the way back to the fire.

Geralt wakes Jaskier with a touch to the shoulder. This is only odd because Geralt usually wakes him with a shout, or by throwing a piece of bread at him. Jaskier revels in having Geralt’s face so close to his own.

“Are you being nice today, Geralt? Should I be checking you for monster bites?” Jaskier quips. He grins at the Witcher’s scoff and eye roll, taking that as a victory. Geralt wanders over to the horses, making himself look busy.

“We’re leaving as soon as you get dressed. If you do that soon, we can sleep in real beds tonight.” Geralt tosses a few full saddlebags over Roach’s back, tying the other horses in a line, starting at Roach.

“Does this mean I get to ride a horse today?” Jaskier beams over at Geralt, who lets out a small ‘hm’. “Oh, come on. It’s not like those poor, robbed townspeople are here to see me ride their horse right now! It’s just us compatriots!”

“Jaskier.” He glares at the bard. “None of the horses have saddles, and none of them trust you.” 

Jaskier scoffs. “Well, then let me ride Roach, then! She trusts me plenty! Isn’t that right, girl?” Jaskier walks over to Roach and pats her on the neck. She looks at Geralt, almost as if she were raising her eyebrows. Geralt sighs. He reasons with himself that the bard looks too tired to walk, his messy bedhead begging for fingers to run through it.

“You can ride Roach with me. I don’t trust you on her back alone.” Geralt hops onto Roach’s back before he can change his mind. Jaskier’s face brightens, and he runs to grab his bag of things and his lute, only struggling to climb onto Roach’s back for a moment.

“Off we go, Geralt!” Jaskier pats the larger man on the back, and Geralt is almost regretting his decision, but as Roach speeds up, Jaskier’s wiry arms wrap around his middle. It feels disgustingly right.

They ride for a few hours in relative silence (meaning: Jaskier mumbles to himself about random things while Geralt pretends not to listen), stopping for lunch when they reach an open meadow. 

“We should get to town by nightfall.” Geralt grumbles around a piece of dried meat. 

“Do you think they have a tavern there? I haven’t gotten properly drunk in too long- maybe I could earn us some coin with a story of one of your dastardly monster battles!” Jaskier mocks swinging a sword, only stopping at Geralt’s glare. “Fine, have no fun, Mr. No-Fun. Mr. Not-As-Cool-As-My-Songs-Make-You.”

“You act as if you don’t call me ‘badass’ at every point that you can.” Geralt suppresses his grin at Jaskier’s open-mouthed shock, as if he had said something controversial. “Finish your food, we’re going.” He stands, walking back to Roach. The girl has the audacity to butt her head against his chest, as if to say, ‘go back over there, you idiot’, but Geralt is ok with playing dumb for just a bit longer.

They ride into town nearing sunset. Despite Jaskier’s comfortable hold around Geralt’s waist the whole way, he leaps off Roach as soon as they get within the town’s limits. Geralt watches as Jaskier stretches out his legs alongside him and Roach, the horse leading everyone to what appeared to be a town hall. Geralt hops off his horse, patting her neck. A few children peek out from behind a corner of the hall, one child’s eyes lighting up at the horse directly behind Roach.

“Ratty!!” The child embraces her horse, her concerned mother seeming to appear out of thin air. She struggles to pull the child away from the horse (from Geralt), fear and apprehension etched into her features. 

“S-Sir, what do we need to do to get our horse back? We haven’t been able to do much work without him.” She holds her child's shoulders steady as she tries to wrestle out of her mother’s hold. Geralt hmms.

“Nothing,” he says, handing the woman the horses reins. “I’ve only come to return what those bandits stole. Make sure everything else gets back to its proper owner.” Geralt awkwardly ignores the woman’s gratitude, choosing instead to turn around, only to face Jaskier and his look of smugness. He narrows his eyes at the bard, knowing exactly what he’s about to say. “Go play at the tavern before you say something you’ll regret.”

“Feeeeelingsssss!!” Jaskier smiles, just far enough out of the Witcher’s grasp to do any damage. At Geralt’s continued glare, Jaskier walks off, a pep in his step. The Witcher watches him go, trying and failing not to let his heart feel soft.

“Oh, it’s you again!” A voice from over his shoulder calls. Geralt turns, nodding agreeably when he meets the eyes of Triss Merigold. “Don’t just stand over there, you buffoon. Come help me out a bit. I need some special ingredients, and your keen nose will help matters significantly.” She smiles, kind and friendly. She gestures for Geralt to follow her to a small apothecary’s shop, laughing when he has to duck down to fit through the door frame.

“Why am I here, Triss?” His frown deepens at her coy smile, still leading him towards the back of the shop. She picks up a small vial of oil and holds it to his face.

“What does this smell like?” 

“Hm. A river?” 

“Ah, I see. No can do.” Triss sets the bottle down, eyes skating across the dozens of vials carefully. She picks up another one, shoving the blue-tinted bottle towards Geralt’s face. “And this one?”

“Mm.” Geralt can’t quite pick out what it smells like until he lets his mind wander a bit. It smells like fragrant perfumes, like expensive soap, like a field of flowers after a fresh rainshower. It smells… Eerily like Jaskier. “It’s… Good.”

“Perfect!” Triss smiles, sliding a few coins to the man behind the counter. She grabs a bundle of odd looking flowers, shoving them into Geralt’s face. “Musky or fresh?”

“Fresh.”

“No can do.” She tosses the bundle onto the pile, selecting another bundle. Geralt is half-tempted to shove her invading arm out of his personal space, but something in him wants to be…  _ Ugh… _ Nice. The sorceress had been nothing but helpful with the Striga, so Geralt was counting this as his payment to her. 

“Fresh.”

“Damn!” She tosses the bundle down, thinking for a moment. Her left hand raises to rest against her mouth, her pointer finger tapping small rhythms. Her eyes lighten with fervor. “Ah!” Digging through the pile, she grabs the bundle at the very bottom, holding it up expectantly.

“Fuck.” Geralt winces, pulling back a bit. “Musky.” With a triumphant look, she tucks a few more ingredients into her bag alongside the bottle and bundle. She pays the alchemist with a smirk, lifting her bag and pushing Geralt out the doors in one fluid motion.

“Now that business is done, time to catch up over an ale or two.” She lets go of the Witcher, but trusts that he’s following her. She’s heading to the tavern, after all. After the long, tiring process of getting from town to town, all Geralt wants to do is settle down with a mug of something strong and take a long nap. Triss opens the door, the sound from inside wafting out to meet the Witcher’s ears.

“-to fuck with a puck! Lest your grandkid be born a hairy young faun!” Jaskier strums a long note, happy with the reception of one of his more upbeat songs, “Bleating and baying, all day, hay ho!” His eyes meet Geralt’s, and his grin widens, quickly continuing the tune. 

“Come along, you can stare later.” Triss’s voice startles Geralt more than he expected it to, but once again follows her, this time to a corner table. Geralt sits against the wall, crossing his arms.

“What do you want?”

“What do I want?” Tris furrows her brows, still smiling that odd smile at Geralt. “I want you to be content. And what you need is this,” she slides him the bottle of scented oil, “it’ll help after he gets tired out.” She gives him a wink.

“Triss…” Geralt warns.

“Hey! Don’t act like your eyes haven’t been glued on him since we’ve gotten here. And, you let him ride Roach. You trust the man more than you think you should.” She suppresses a grin when Geralt rises, eyes hardening at the sight of a large, drunk man trying to touch Jaskier. “Have fun, be safe.” Triss slips the oil into one of Geralt’s pockets as he stalks up to the bar. He can hear the conversation that the drunk man is trying to have now, and it does nothing but sour his mood.

“Yer hairier than a bear, but I’d want nothin’ more than ta’ see ya naked under me.” The man leers, nearly pouring his drink into Jaskier’s lute with how far he’s pitching forwards. Jaskier lets out a nervous chuckle, plucking a few strings on his lute to try and move the man’s focus. “‘M not usually into lads, but you’ve got a real good smile, yeah, yer real easy on the eyes.” The man nods, eyes locked on Jaskier’s lips.

“Well, I really appreciate the compliments, but I have to- oh! Geralt!” Relief floods the bard’s face, shoulders falling down into a more comfortable position. “Geralt, why don’t you-”

“Of course.” Geralt rips the man away from his bard - and it’s never felt more true,  _ his  _ bard - and shoves him towards the door. 

“What’s the big idea, you hulking fuck? Y’ain’t gonna trow me out, no way in hell!” The man squirms against the Witcher’s iron grip. They reach the door, but Geralt doesn’t stop there.

“You’re right,” Geralt murmurs into the man’s ear, shoving him down onto the mucked streets. “I’m not kicking you out.” His lips twist into a cruel smile. He pulls his right arm back, channels his anger, the nervous, scattered look on Jaskier’s face, the man’s comments. The man tries to scramble up, but his drunken movements are uncoordinated on the damp cobbled walkway. Geralt buries his fist into the man’s face with a swift punch, his nose breaking on contact and his consciousness fading as quickly as his chances to get into Jaskier’s pants.

His boots echo in the now-silent tavern as he steps through the door. “My hero!” Jaskier shouts, cutting through the silence without a second thought. This seems to break whatever spell hung over the patrons, who get back to eating and bantering. Triss smiles at Geralt, catching his arm as she walks out.

“Do prove me right, Geralt.” She pats his arm at his warning growl, slipping a rough key into the palm of his hand, graceful in her exit. He looks down with drawn eyebrows, the number  _ 7 _ etched poorly into the metal handle. Geralt may not consider anyone to be his ‘friend’, but Triss is definitely on his team, which he appreciates greatly. 

“Geralt? Did you- did you kill that man?” Jaskier wanders back to Geralt’s side, peering at the door. Geralt hmms. “That doesn’t quite answer my question, but!” He focuses his attention wholly on Geralt, pointing a finger in his face. “I thank you for protecting my honor, and if you killed him we should probably get out of here quickly before his friends catch on.” Jaskier starts towards the door, only being stopped by Geralt’s hold on his arm. He hoists the bard back in front of him.

“I did not kill the man, Jaskier.” It may be his imagination, but Jaskier almost deflates at the admission. Geralt preens at how well he’s trained the bard towards violence. “I did, however, knock him out until next century.” His eyes soften at the laugh that startles out of his bard.

“You really are a knight, Geralt! Getting rid of all the people that want to besmirch my good reputation!” Jaskier winks, the joke not lost on the Witcher. In that moment, though, Geralt realizes what Triss was getting at. Jaskier is his human-- his human who somehow understands him and has pushed past all of his artificial boundaries. 

“Upstairs.” Geralt grits, dragging Jaskier to their apparent room. Jaskier blubbers as he’s drug through the bar, up some stairs, and to the inn section of the building. They move towards the door with haste, Geralt’s not-so-careful opening revealing a single, large bed and an already lit fire.  _ Oh, that Triss.  _ Geralt will have to get her some rare ingredients sometime, something stupidly difficult to get.

“Splurge on something fancier today, have we?” Jaskier grins, all teeth. Something in Geralt snaps at that- the hope he had been steadfastly ignoring for  _ months. _ Geralt slams the door shut behind them, crowding Jaskier in close. He presses his nose underneath the bard’s jaw, humming in pleasure at the aroused jump in pulse it brings. His hands sneak up the bard’s sides, pressing into all of his softer areas. 

_ “Beautiful.” _ Geralt murmurs, right hand wandering into his shaggy hair, left settling comfortably on his neck. Jaskier exhales as steady as a piece of parchment in a windstorm.

“This better not be a joke,” Jaskier’s pupils have ballooned in size, locked on… well, Geralt. “If this is a joke I will literally kill you, I swear-” His words die off and his eyes flutter closed, Geralt’s hand flexing.

“This isn’t a joke. If I have to watch another peasant lowlife try to flirt with you I will chop someone’s balls off.” This startles a laugh out of Jaskier, who grinds incessantly against Geralt’s thigh. He cracks his eyes open, pinning Geralt in place.

“Oh, I’d love to see you protecting your territory, you big man.” Jaskier laughs at the pleased rumble coming from the other man’s chest. Geralt pushes his hips against the bard, quietly embarrassed by his lack of control. He focuses his eyes onto Jaskier’s own, stunned by the amount of  _ want. _

“Can I?” Geralt’s voice is pure sex, running his fingertips lightly across Jaskier’s tenting pants. 

“Oh, you better, or else, ah, or else I’ll- oh fuck it.” Geralt chuckles, watching his bard unlace his pantaloons and underthings and shucks them off in one fluid motion.

Geralt moans, finally wrapping his thick fingers around his partner’s instrument. He suppresses a smile at the thought, remembering in a moment of clarity that he needs at least one hand free to undo his own trousers. 

Sadly, he needs both hands for the gruelling task, so he sets about ‘marking his territory’ with his mouth instead. Quite animatedly, one might say. His teeth find a home high on the bard’s neck, far from any respectable collar. He works efficiently in both matters, leaving fat hickeys to bloom tomorrow, and simultaneously sliding his pants off and kicking them to the side. His mouth works down as his right hand wraps around both their cocks. Jaskier moans loudly, head banging against the door.

“Okay, for how much I’m- ah! Fuck- enjoying the current proceedings, if it weren’t for your lovely, massive arms, I’d be on the floor right now, so, if we can - hah - move this to the very nice bed, I’d love that.” Jaskier mock-pushes Geralt, gasping when he only moves closer.

“Hold on.” Geralt moves his left hand down Jaskier’s body, finding its new home at the back of his thigh. With very little warning he lifts with ease, carrying Jaskier to the edge of the bed. Jaskier barely has time to grab onto him before he’s being thrown down, the Witcher climbing over his prone form like… Well, a Witcher. All liquid movement, upper arms bracketing his face. He leans down nice and easy, eyes shockingly soft for how keyed up they were, not moments ago. 

“Is this gonna be a kiss, or are you just gonna look cute?” Jaskier grins at Geralt’s tip of the head and eye roll, pushing up onto his elbows to mash his mouth against his Witcher’s. Geralt’s hand immediately finds itself buried in the bard’s soft hair, gripping on for dear life, holding him close as he teases the other’s mouth open. He tastes the ale he was sipping on earlier, wild hare from their lunch, and musk that can only be attributed to Jaskier. 

Geralt pulls back, blood thrumming at the sight of his spit connected to Jaskier’s plump lip, head tilted back, eyes closed in pleasure. His mind clears as he remembers what started all of this. He moves his hand down from the bard’s hair teasingly, trailing ever-so-soft past his (not super noticeable, but definitely there  and cute ) crows feet. Jaskier’s eyes are shining like freshly shined topaz, ever beautiful in the dim light of the fire. 

He thinks back to the previous night, to Jaskier’s desperation. He thinks of the smell of trust at each turn of their adventure. He nudges Jaskier’s thighs further apart, thinking of how he had wanted to bury himself between those hairy legs. How he still does. 

He leans his face close, almost nose-to-nose with the bard. “I have such a hard time reading you sometimes, Jaskier,” his fingers crawl down his cheek, “but this was the easiest thing to spot yet.” 

His fingers wrap around Jaskier’s neck, closing against the sides of his throat. The result is explosive- Jaskier stutters out a moan, dick twitching, eyes fluttering shut. His mouth opens and shuts uselessly, eyes glassy with pleasure.

“I saw you, last night.” Jaskier tenses up.

“You… You did?”

“Mhm.” His left hand trails down to Jaskier’s hip bone, tracing the protruding bone delicately. He lightens up his hold on the bard’s throat, but kisses whatever skin is available to make up for it. He presses warm, brief kisses to the man’s shoulders, collarbone, chest. Too affectionate for his own good.

But  _ damn it, _ this is for Jaskier. For the most sappy man out there, who speaks his mind and writes half of them into songs. Geralt can afford to be a little sappy when all Jaskier’s made of is pure sap. Sap, horniness, and too much damn trouble. Geralt can dish out a little bit of sap for Jaskier to soak up, in payment for the amount of times the man has been borderline cruel to him.

“Was it…” Cornflower blue eyes peer at him, hopeful. “Was it good?”  _ Was I good?  _

“Up until this moment, you’d never been more stunning.” Geralt lets himself smile at the effect his words have on the bard, his left hand wrapping back around both of their dicks. He looks at his bard for confirmation, getting a small nod. He wastes no time on working up to an orgasm.

He pulls the both of them to completion, swallowing any and all of Jaskier’s more vocal compliments. Jaskier orgasms first, come splattering across his chest, dick pulsing beneath Geralt’s own. Geralt claims him in a final, biting kiss, following the lead of his dear bard.

They sit in silence for a few moments, breathing hard. Well, Jaskier breathes hard and Geralt just sits astride him, looking pretty. Geralt finally moves his right hand from his neck, pressing light, butterfly kisses to the place it once was. It’s heart wrenchingly sweet, and Jaskier tells him so.

“Shut up, bard.”

“Ahh,  _ there’s _ the Geralt I know!” Jaskier pulls the man into a crushing hug, giddy at his grumbled acceptance. 

Nose buried deep in Jaskier’s chest, Geralt gives a small bite. Jaskier yelps, shoving the other man back. 

“You can’t just nibble on me when I’m being sweet!” Jaskier pouts. Geralt sits up on his knees for a moment, a finger digging around the front of his mouth. “What?”

“I think I got a hair stuck between my teeth.” 

“You-!” Jaskier squawks, slapping Geralt’s chest as he giggles. “If you think I’m going to shave my very manly chest for you, you’re wrong!” 

“I don’t know… Maybe you could just shave enough patches for me to mark you.” Jaskier laughs his incredulous laugh, head tilting back.  _ Just what Geralt had planned on. _ He propels himself downward, nosing underneath Jaskier’s jaw and biting the skin too lightly to bruise. Jaskier’s breath catches, his hands burying into the Witcher’s hair, pulling him up.

“If you think you can shut me up that easily each time, you’re in for a rough time, pal.”

Geralt smiles softly at his bard, only this side of patronizing. “Of course, Love.” His smile transforms into a smirk at the full-body shiver this gets him.

“Oh no, we cannot go again. You may be big and powerful, but I am a mere human, whose strengths lie more in my brains than my brawn.” 

Geralt scoffs. “Of course.” He glances down at his forgotten pants, vial of oil poking out. “But if you could go again, would you?”

“Be quiet, you dirty old man.” Jaskier jokes, tipping them both onto their sides. “Just let me bask against your ridiculously large chest for a few moments. Maybe I could get it up in a few hours.” Geralt presses his hand into Jaskier’s lower back, holding him close, feeling nothing but content.

“Of course, my bard. Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> I seriously had to stop myself from ending this with, "of course... unless?" so count your blessings
> 
> Might make a second chapter? Who knows
> 
> Come hmu on tumblr @stairswarning :-)


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